


Bloodlust

by corinnemaree



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-08-15 00:03:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8034220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corinnemaree/pseuds/corinnemaree
Summary: Nearly four hundred years old, Claire isn't phased by much. Then, the hunter, Owen Grady walks into her life.





	1. I Can Hear Your Pulse Racing From Here

**Author's Note:**

> Back for a while and this is the trash i make?? wtf?? sorry??

Claire could taste the last remnants of the blood bag, small sounds gargling out of the plastic. There was never anything that could match the real thing, but over years of new regimes and laws, Claire hadn’t tasted a human in a very long time. She was nearly four hundred years old, only celebrating her three hundred and eighty fifth birthday just nearly a year before. She was considered old in their community - very old in America - but not the oldest there was. That was a complicated matter in itself.

She was a Scotland born girl, and when turned, stayed hidden and afraid. It took a lot of convincing from her master to let her travel to America when it was first ‘discovered’. She was there when the American Vampire Council was established, her master the leader and she became prevalent with the council as his second in command. Her accent changed over the years and she fit in there; she felt safe in her new home.

Then, her master became mad; in the worst sense of the word. He was becoming delusional and insane, thinking that humans were after him and eating them at his every whim. Claire had no choice but to take over until he was well. When she did so, her master was murdered with corpse blood. That made her the mistress of America. She had more responsibility then, and it was everything she could have wished for.

Through years of trial and error, murders of humans and vampires alike, there was a truce. Claire had organised a worldwide agreement;

  1. Vampires were open about their species
  2. They could not lie or coerce someone into thinking they are not a vampire
  3. Feeding of humans was a strictly consensual affair; people donate blood and limitations put in place to make sure no one could die or be drained
  4. The hunters that were stationed across the world would work together with vampires to end unnecessary deaths
  5. Turning is a consensual process with regulations
  6. Unordered hunts will be punished with the strictest of laws
  7. Killing of any human will be dealt with the highest authority in said country



These agreements could only be cleared and carried out by the master of all vampires; which Claire happened to be. Through a strange turn of events, Claire was named as leader of the vampire council, a universal position that had a domain over the entire global. Claire wasn’t exactly sure how she managed to get it, but she thought it had something to do with her master and the English ambassador for the council. She loathed that man, not before she cherish his lips on hers. It was complicated.

Business was usually hectic, beyond chaotic most of the time. Claire had so many different things to deal with in the beginning. And that was only 1832. Eventually, when things got easier, lives became easier to live, jobs were given to different people, different departments and Claire had less to worry about.

That’s where the hunters came in. Claire had met hundreds of hunters, and the family that topped the lot were the Grady’s. Claire had known every generation of Grady from the current leader, Jed. He was a kind man, but had little respect for vampires; only to Claire. It was difficult dealing with someone when they respect you but not your people. Claire had dealt with that issue for far longer than any other vampire in America.

Claire was getting old, her regal nature out in public and in meetings, but when she was home, she was tired and hungry and was far more relaxed. Most of the time she was only in a robe and silk pajamas. She was tired of being in control of everything all at once; her home life was the only time she could relax...yet she was still in control and tiring her from the inside out.

So, all Claire really did was sit in her throne that was far too extravagant for her, but it was made and there she was sitting on top of it. She gave orders, got new information and talked to the leaders of the hunters guild once a week. She was currently waiting for them, drinking a blood bag before she could smell the stench of blood filled the room.

The home in which she lived was an old forgotten mansion that was refurbished for her use nearly a hundred years ago. It was elegant and meant for business more than a home, but it was the only place Claire felt comfortable. She had her bedroom upstairs with a large hall downstairs which acted as an entryway. There were a few scattered rooms downstairs but some of them haven’t been opened in years. She was living in luxury when she could have just been living simply.

Her long green velvet robe had fallen off her shoulder; lazy day and late hunters had her bored and waiting. Throwing her legs over the arm of the throne, Claire reclined, combing her fingers through her hair. Her foot danced around, waiting around for Jed was exhausting but it had been quite some time since he had irritated her with his lateness; so this behaviour was unusual.

Then, the doors opened. The vampires in attendance all stood up a little straighter, graceful as the humans just walked in fiercely. Claire noticed that all the men were the same, with the exception of the man in front. And no Jed. This was extremely unusual. Claire sat up in her throne, crossing her legs and waiting for them to reach her. They stopped and Claire inspected the man at the front for a moment.  

Jed was older than this man, Jed being at least eighty, but he was always skilled no matter his age. This man was new and to Claire, he was inexperienced. He was in his thirties, blond dusted hair with a hard cut jaw and broad shoulders. He held himself like a military man, but he could still be a recruit. Claire had to admit, he was quite gorgeous, a firm hand and beautifully dangerous his look was. He was most probably the only human she would allow herself to fantasise about.

The man cleared his throat and Claire sighed. “Where is Jed?” she asked, reclining back into her chair before the man tried to step up. Two vampires rushed to block him moving any further. He was cocky, Claire would give him that.

“Jed died this morning,” he said back sourly.

“Oh,” Claire muttered, leaning forward and shrugging. “the hassles of living, I suppose,” The room erupted into a laugh before Claire gestured to stop. “And who are you?” she asked.

“His son, Owen,” he said back just as harshly and Claire’s brow rose. Not even realising it, she had chased down the throne and to face him. He jumped back before Claire caught his arm and inspected his face a little more. He was Jed’s son; some very good work Jed had done. Though, Owen’s mother probably had more to do with creating him the way he was than what Jed had.

“Oh the one I’ve been hearing about! Oh I’ve wanted to meet you ever since I heard your little heartbeat for the first time,” she smiled, reaching up to hold his jaw. He suddenly recoiled, taking a hard step back.

“I ask for distance,” he told her. Claire cleared her throat stepping forward and her robe slipping just a little more. She saw his gaze shift down to the strap of her bra and the cup’s lace bearing its face. Claire smirked as she turned.

“I don’t, and you answer to me,” she bit at her lip, starting back to her throne.

“No, I don’t,” he snapped and Claire’s breath hitched. Anger fueled the air with vampires hissing and snarling and the brutal pull of stakes from boots. Claire turned once more, ushering the vampires away and staring down the hunters. Owen’s stake remained out.

“Uh uh uh, it’s okay,” she tried to calm, stepping slowly down the steps once more. Snatching the stake from his hand, Claire touched the tip with her finger, glaring at Owen as she twirled the wooden stick. “You’ll be wiser next time, I hope. When you talk back to me or threaten me in anyway, they tend to take it personally,” she remarked and offered him the stake back. Carefully taking it from her hands, he moved away from Claire.

“That’s it, that’s all we needed to say tonight. We’re in mourning,” Owen clicked his tongue and Claire’s brow raised.

“Is there a funeral?” she asked, Owen putting the stake back into his boot and fixing up the jacket over his shoulders.

“Yes, but my mother forbids you from coming,” he gave a small smirk, as though he was jabbing a thorn in her side. He was.

“Your father mentioned that she didn’t like me,” Claire blinked and Owen turned on his heels. He walked off down the hall, the hunters following him in toe. Claire saw him as a non-entity when he came in, yet now he was the right hunter for the job. How quickly he could shape things.

“Until our next meeting,” he called out.

“Be on time or I promise, you will regret it,” Claire said, Owen glanced over his shoulder and for a moment, he smiled. Claire swallowed. Sighing, Claire sat back in her throne before ushering the other vampires away.

A day later, she received an invitation to a funeral; Jed Grady’s. It was the next day, lunch. Claire swallowed and went through her wardrobe. When the sun rose that morning, Claire put on her long black dress, heels to match and a black blazer that brought in her waistline. When she started to head to the door, many vampires were shocked by her; she rarely wanted to go outside in the daylight, a problem in itself but umbrellas helped with that mostly. Fixing the umbrella up, Claire walked down the street.

The whole vampire in public thing was sometimes hard to determine. You didn’t have to advertise anymore, so either you were very skin cautious with the necessity to cover your skin constantly or you were a vampire; there was no in between. Claire had her umbrella up, the sun peeking past trees and Claire successfully hidden amongst the shade. Sunglasses down and watching the people crowd around the casket. Owen walked beside his mother, sunglasses shielding their sadness.

When the casket was set in the ground and everyone had left beside the mother and son pair. Claire watched as they both muttered to themselves, making sure not to listen. Staying in the shadows meant not being seen and it was an advantage for occasions such as this. Yet, there was something so awful about not saying goodbye to Jed. When Owen’s mother walked away, Claire was going to speak with Jed for a moment, until Owen spotted her.

Turning, Claire walked back to her home, all the other vampires asleep or having some late morning snacks. Taking her place in her bed, she curled up and sighed. Death was the common ground for Vampires; they may have lived for years beyond they were supposed to, but death was always around them. Claire could play it off, but there was a part of her that just wanted to grieve. She hadn’t properly grieved since her…

She had upset herself with the thought of them. That’s what made the tears come. She pulled her blankets up tight around herself, holding onto a pillow as she slept. She missed them. Missed their smile. Growing old and never changing was hard, and to have people around her changing constantly was heartbreaking. Taking to sleep, she didn’t want to be woken. But night drew in, a blood bag at the ready and Claire had vampires waiting on her hand and foot. Like every other fucking day. She was so tired.

Dismissing most of her staff, letting them do whatever they pleased for the next week, Claire was free to breathe. It almost seemed a luxury to breathe by herself, and yet, she did so for an entire week. She could go around her house without people asking her what she'd like or if she needed anything; she was able to fend for herself. It was freeing.

Claire got the hot mug from the microwave, the blood thick and rich at the bottom. Her socks were thick, like her sweat pants and matched with a maroon top that was lazily put on. God, it felt nice to be lazy. Shuffling about, she heard a room’s door open, a room that shouldn’t ever be opened. Claire placed down her mug before charging to the room. There was Owen, trying to peek into the room. Claire dashed there quickly, blocking Owen and his view into the room. He jumped back in surprise.

“Didn’t anyone tell you not to go sneaking around someone’s home?” Claire barked, shutting the door swiftly and locking it tightly. Of all things, he had to go into that room. She wanted to smash her hand through a wall. He was just staring at her like she was mad for being protective of her privacy.

“Where have you been? We’ve been trying to call about a situation,” he told her and Claire shook her head. Walking down the hall, she pointed towards the front door.

“My staff is off. Come back tomorrow,” she yelled. “And never open that door again,” Claire made sure her words were harsh and hurt to hear. She didn’t want him going into that room. It was something private and she never wanted to go in there again. Taking her mug, Claire went to her room, cuddling up in her bed, drinking her blood and glancing out the door. The room reminding her of everything that was gone.

Claire called back her staff, wearing a flowing blue dress that hugged in at her waist with a white blazer over her shoulders, she waited patiently for the hunters. Right on queue, Owen and a few other hunters walked in, patience lost of them.  

“What is the problem?” Claire asked as Owen came up to the throne this time. He stood up on the steps, blocked once more and he huffed impatiently.

“There was an attack two nights ago. Two dozen people were turned without a master and they went on a rampage,” he explained and Claire pouted with the information.

“Do you have any of them?” she asked.

“They all died by sunlight,” Owen told her as she looked at her nails.

“Then why is it an issue? They’ve been dealt with,” she said, shrugging. When she looked back at him, his brow was crinkled and shock was written into his expression.

“That’s not the point. Someone turned twenty or so humans and left them to kill. You have to do something?” he asked arrogantly.

“What? What am I to do? You don’t know who turned them and if he falls under my jurisdiction,” Claire shrugged, standing from her chair and walking down towards Owen.

“You’re the master of all vampires! You have jurisdiction over everyone,” he said, watching her and she slowly began to circle him.

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” she mumbled before stopping where she had started.

“Do you mind not going where I can’t see you,” Owen was biting at the inside of his lip and Claire shrugged.

“I could make you into a vampire, take all the bad vampires down,” she said, suggesting a ridiculous idea.

“Do it and you’ll wish you were dead,” Owen barked and Claire stepped back, smiling at the shock of it. Then, all the vampires started to hiss, bearing their fangs for the hunters to see.

“Now, now little ones. Banter is welcome,” Claire chuckled before a guard stepped closer to Claire, as though to whisper in her ear but he was loud.

“Not from some blood bag,” one of the guards said and Claire snapped. Her hand quickly grabbed at his neck, lifting him from the floor and having him dangling and clawing at her hand, her own fangs beared now.

“If you don’t drop the attitude around the hunters I will make their deaths seem like a fucking walk in the park. Do I make myself clear?” she spat out before dropping the guard to the floor. She bent to him, tilting his chin up as he coughed frantically. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she tilted her head, her fangs fixing back into place.

“May I have a word alone?” Owen asked and Claire’s brow crinkled. She rose up and flicked her wrist.

“Out,” she ordered and all the vampires left the room. So then, it was only Claire and the hunters. She was beginning to feel outnumbered until Owen cleared his throat and the men started to leave. Then, it was just Claire and Owen. She stepped down from the raised throne and stood next to him, face to face for the first time. They had always been separated by their job, now they were just two people unfazed by their jobs and just wanting to talk.

“You were at the funeral,” Owen said and Claire cleared her throat.

“I did care for your father,” Claire explained, stepping down into the foyer alongside Owen, they just walked together in between the pillars. “did he never tell you that I was at his father’s funeral? Or his grandfather’s?” she asked and Owen looked a little confused for a moment.

“You’ve been to all the Grady funerals, haven’t you?” he inquired and Claire chuckled before nodding.

“I worked with them when they spent nights away from their wives. I would often tell them to go home because I wasn’t worth it. Your family has always meant a great deal to me,” she explained.

“Yeah, it seems that the feeling has been mutual,” he mused and Claire smiled. Claire heard his pulse jump up a notice, heart beating a little harder than before.

“Did Jed ever talk about me?” she said, tucking hair behind her ear.

“Yes, and he told me to trust you but never trust your hunger,” Owen said, a small smirk at the edge of his lips.

“He was right about that, but I’m very nice when I want to be,” Claire reminded and Owen shrugged.

“He also said not to look right at you. You may compel me,” Owen said and Claire bit at her lip. Compelling was easy, a small amount of suggestion and persuasion and their yours.

“I don’t need to look at you to compel you, Owen,” Claire smiled before her own intrigue took over. “What do you think of vampires?” she said, flashing her eyes to him, and knowing full well he was going to answer with his heart. She waited before he answered.

“The one in front of me right now is beyond beautiful,” he said, a resting tone as he spoke. Claire swallowed hard before ducking her head behind her hair.

“That’s what they all say,” she tried to play it off. Then, caught off guard, Owen grabbed onto Claire, trying to threaten her in some way. Claire was quicker than he thought, managing to grab onto his wrists and pin him against one of the pillars. Owen then flicked his wrists, his hands grabbing onto Claire’s wrists, taking them above her head and spinning her around to have her against the pillar just as he was before.

“I could tear you apart, limb by limb, if you _ever_ try that again,” he warned. As Claire struggled against him, he took her wrists and put them behind her back, locking them their with his hands; tight and restraining.

“I almost want to see you try,” she smirked. Temptation suddenly revolved around Claire’s chest. Owen’s body was pressed up right against Claire’s and his heart was belting out against his ribs violently. She didn’t want to bite him, something more intimate than that. Rising up on her toes, she leaned into him. He didn’t move, but his hands loosened.

“Don’t,” he said in a shallow whisper. There was desire in his voice, but his job looming over their heads. He pulled his hands away from her and charged out of the room. He backed away from Claire and let her go completely. She cleared her throat. Then, Owen nodded to Claire, taking his leave and trying to get out of the room quickly.

“Some other time then,” Claire whispered and Owen turned to her for a moment. He sighed before running a hand over his jaw before he huffed and walked out the door. What was she thinking? He was human and she could hurt him. She shouldn’t have done that. She was nearly four hundred years old, you’d think she would have grown out of her childish lust. And yet, it remained and was fixated on a man that could kill her just as quickly as she could kill him.


	2. The Blood On My Hands, Scares Me To Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Binge watching The Vampire Diaries helped with this. yeah, i hate myself too.

_ “Take it away,” she begged, her wound causing the most horrendous pain that she’d felt in a long time. Claire shut her eyes, trying to breathe through it all, but it was too much. The fire that breathed from the house nearby was just another reminder of what she had lost. Claire bellowed out and the pain and heartache that rippled within her, escaped in a scream. “Please, take away the pain,” she asked once more to the man above her, and with gracious and kind eyes, he nodded once. _

_ “As you wish, my dear,” he said, his english accent thick and regal. He bit into his wrist, the blood pouring out of it. Claire’s breathing became rapid before his wrist came down to her mouth and the blood was force-feed. Claire writhed and struggled against his hand, but his hold was too strong. Then, as the blood ran down her throat, he wrenched his wrist away from her, baring fangs and his eyes no longer kind. She wanted to screech out in fear, but he bit down on her neck, silencing her with his sharp teeth. Then, he snapped her neck.  _

_ It was that simple. One moment, he was biting down on her, her shock taking over and then it was black. When she woke, everything was a hurried mess, the world was alive with sound - sounds she couldn’t possibly hear; the whistles of birds like they were right in her ear but were miles away. She could see like it was the bright light of day in the middle of the bleak nights, Everything within her was heightened to a point where it felt overwhelming.  _

_ She was in a home with the man who killed her sitting not a few feet from her bedside. Claire looked around, seeing a man slumped over against the wall and a woman sitting patiently by the man’s side as he sat on a stool. He was clearer by the light of a candle, dark brown hair with blue eyes that seemed so kind but she knew they could be brutal. He had a rough beard growing across his jaw and dressed like a regal man. He was young, but not terribly old either. He seemed so beautiful and radiant - too much so.  _

_ “My name is Edward Stanford,” he stated, leaning forwards to Claire. She sat up, licking her lips and the sound alone was making her ears ache - as though they were bleeding. “You are now a vampire,” he said, as though this wasn’t a life changing thing.  _

_ “A what?” she responded, her voice rasped and her chest heaving, she felt like she couldn’t breathe.  _

_ “We feed on -”  _

_ “I know what they are, I just dinna think they existed,” she replied sharply. He smiled and moved her her bed, sitting on the edge.  _

_ “You’re in transition, my dear. You will need to drink soon,” he said once more before the shooting pain that raced over her body had her hunching over. _

_ “I thought you said the pain would go away?” she whimpered as Edward’s hand graced over her cheek, having her look up at him.  _

_ “Do you feel that? It’s hunger,” he warned her. _

_ “This isn’t hunger, this is….desperation,” she whined, gasping for air but nothing seemed to do her any good. “I canna handle it,” Claire cried. Edward soothed her with a comforting hum.  _

_ “You must,” he nodded, taking her hand. “My dear, will you take this for me?” he asked, handing her something. She opened her hand, revealing a slender silver ring, with a blue gemstone sitting on top - its edges jagged and unclean. _

_ “Why?” she asked as he took it and slid it onto her finger. _

_ “You will use it soon,” he nodded to the girl, who sat up and revealed the slender part of her neck to Edward. “But first, you must feed,” he said, tearing his fangs into the neck of the girl. The blood, the smell of it - the sharp scent of iron on her neck as the blood trickled down the slant of her skin. The fangs tore out of her gums and the hunger was too much. Claire took hold of the woman and let her fangs rip into her skin, the puncture sharp against her teeth. The blood raced out of the woman’s skin and dripped directly into Claire’s mouth. It was amazing and beautifully rich - her first feed was the most exhilarating thing she’d ever experienced.  _

Claire’s attention was brought back to the gem that sat on her right hand, the silver band easily able to slide clockwise around her ring finger. Four of her vampire staff stood around, listing and compiling all the information that they knew of the recent vampire transitions and deaths. It felt odd, listening to something she already knew of, things that she had memorised and tried to forget. 

“Are you listening, Mistress?” Zara asked. Claire snapped her attention from her ring to Zara, her pen tapping against her clipboard of information.

“People are dying, yes, I get it,” Claire snipped and Zara rolled her eyes. 

“Mistress, the hunters will be annoyed if you don’t take this seriously,” she reminded and Claire huffed. 

“You know what I want? For people to call me Claire. I am taking this seriously. It’s just something I’ve heard before and I don’t need a revamp of the past,” she shrugged, reclining back into her chair. 

“Fun choice of words,” Owen’s voice called out over the hall. Claire sat up as the vampires scattered to her side - the divide between the two species was as clear as the clear line separating them now. 

“If you say so,” Claire snarled. 

“So, an update -” 

“Oh, god, not you too,” Claire groaned. 

“People are dying, Claire,” Owen snapped.

“I know that. But there’s nothing I can do about it. Get him, then we’ll talk,” she said, crossing her arms. 

“I’m sick of this attitude!” A hunter yelled, barging past Owen. Claire had many disputes with his hunter - Vic Hoskins. He was an awful man, but he was efficient at his job. “You can either help the hunters or die!” he said, walking towards the bound curtains.

“Do not test me, boy,” Claire said, standing up, her hands bound.

“You asked for it,” Vic wrenched the thick fabric from his guard and let the sunlight take over the room. 

“Mistress, hide!” Zara screeched, ducking for cover behind anything that would shield her. Claire stood as the sunlight poured into the hall, the white of the marble shocking everything. And then, they were shocked by Claire. Instead of bursting into flames as any other vampire would have, she stood in the sun, breathing it in for the first time in a long time. She shut her eyes, feeling the warmth of the radiant sun, the way it touched her when she felt so cold. Opening her eyes, she saw Owen with his mouth gaping open.

“Get my staff away from the sunlight,” Claire ordered the hunters, who took off their coats, hurrying over to the vampires aid. Claire raced over to Vic, holding him up the throat and his feet dangling off the ground. “And you! Close the damn curtains!” she snapped, dropping him back down. As Vic started to close the curtain, Claire felt the last trickle of sunlight beam into her skin, the relief and warmth of it reminding her of better times. 

“Everyone, leave,” Owen asked as the vampires got to their feet and the hunters backed away from Claire. 

“You heard him, go,” she ordered, waving her hand towards the door. Vic rushed past her, her brow furrowed as she watched him go, more frightened of her than before. Then, it was only Claire and Owen once more. Claire walked to the curtain, fixing the fabric in place and making sure no sunlight could get through. In retrospect, they really should just black out all the windows, but there was nothing quite so isolated as closing one’s self inside. When Claire turned to Owen, his gun was pointed at her - a harsher threat to her than he realised. 

“How the hell did you do that?” he asked. Claire swallowed her breath, containing herself and walking delicately across the room, his gun trained on her.

“My master loved me. He cared for me like I was his child,” she said, before she dashed to him, flicking his wrist and keeping him at a disadvantage. He struggled for a moment before Claire raised her hand to reveal that imperfect little gemstone on her finger. “So he made sure I would always be protected.” Claire let Owen go and he holstered his gun again.

“But how?” he asked. Claire looped her arm with his, walking them both around the hall. Owen held her hand, inspecting the ring and spinning it - as though he was afraid that she would attack him if he took it off; she wouldn’t. 

“You know there are other things that go bump in the night. My master knew witches and they were skilled at enchanting objects for certain things. They enchanted rings to protect vampires from sunlight, so long as they wear it,” she explained.

“And your master -” 

“Yes, he had one, but we were rarely ever seen in daylight,” Claire replied, knowing his question. 

“How has noone known about this?” he asked, astonished by this. 

“Why was there ever a need?” she shrugged. Owen stopped, unlooping their arms and turning to Claire. 

“You’re a vampire that can walk in daylight,” he reminded her. Claire sighed, folding her arms and looking down at the ring. 

“If I use this ring to my advantage, it loses all its enchantments and I will never be able to walk in sunlight again,”

“Why did you use that umbrella at my -” 

“Keep up appearances,” she replied, looking down at her ring again. “No one should know this power exists.” Claire found it easy to escape into her memories, every aspect of her life, trapped in her mind - against everything she wanted. 

_ It was 1765, Claire was celebrating her one hundred and thirty fifth birthday in France. She had never been and Edward promised that her first one hundred years as a vampire should be celebrated in style. Over the course of those hundred years, Claire developed an english accent and all remnants of her Scottish past left in the lengths of her hair. In those years, she realised that Edward had cultivated riches from compelling those around him, as well as investing money in other people’s projects. All in all, they lived in luxury - far more than Claire had experienced when she was living.  _

_ For her birthday, Edward had bought Claire the gown she had been wanting for a while - elegant and white with rose embroidery across the corset and skirt, filling down until the ends of the train. She knew Edward spoiled her with things all the time, most of the time having sold it off for other expenses because Claire grew tired of them. Claire told Edward she didn’t need nice things, but this dress was the only thing she wanted.  _

_ Fixing her necklace around the back of her neck, Claire fixed up her hair as Edward knocked on her door. Coming inside, he beamed at the sight of her and Claire grinned. He made his way across the room, displeasure washing over his face as he inspected her. Edward was always quick to find things wrong with a picture. He grabbed the ring from the dresser table and Claire moaned, knowing she had forgotten it. _

_ “Remember, you must keep this ring hidden, my dear,” he said, slipping it over her finger.  _

_ “I promise,” she said, hooking her arm along his. He escorted her down to the party and they walked amongst the humans, laughing and chatting with them all. “Who shall we drink tonight?” Claire whispered to Edward. He groaned, as though the idea of drinking tonight was tedious. It may have been - he was at least three hundred years older than she was.  _

_ “Be kind and drink some wine instead, we still have dinner waiting at home,” he reminded and Claire whined to him.  _

_ “Not even a small treat?” she asked with a pout. _

_ “No, not even a small treat,” he shook his head, laughing underneath his breath. _

_ “You’re no fun tonight,” she huffed. Then, swiftly, she was taken from Edward’s arm into another man’s hold. _

_ “I could show you fun, my love,” he hummed. That voice - it had been twenty five years since she’d heard it. She looked up to the ruggedly handsome noble vampire, his hair dark and long. But he was still beautiful.  _

_ “Richard,” she exclaimed, pulling him into her arms and holding him tightly. Richard kissed at her neck like he always did. It was Richard and she... _

Claire hadn’t thought of him in a long time. It was 1974 the last time she saw him, gone at sundown. She was foolish to think he would stay. Claire drew her attention once more to her ring before she tucked her hands behind her back, making her chin rise as she talked to Owen once more. 

“Just know that I am taking this matter seriously, but right now, we cannot search. It’s for your own good,” she played off their conversation, trying to get back to business as always. Owen’s brow narrowed, stepping into Claire.

“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked, voice low and shaking Claire in a way that had her thinking of the past. 

“A lot, little Grady. But you’ll know in time,” she smiled before she let him go on with his day. Though, with the way he walked out, she knew her warning went on deaf ears.

Dawned in the practical and almost vampire stereotypical outfit of all black, she fixed the jeans and the jacket up and made her way out into the night. There were a few vampires around, but Claire had seen them all once or twice - the vampire mind could never forget, a constant vault of horrible histories. Claire heard a loud bang, at least four streets away and knew it was more than just some random gang bangers trying to get money. It was human and vampire business - Claire could smell it. She went there in a flash, witnessing Owen up against a wall with a vampire almost at his throat. 

“I thought I told you not to go out searching?” Claire said, her hands on her hips. The vampire, new and skittish, was startled by her. Owen on the other hand didn’t seem phased by her, the two carrying on with their conversation. 

“I have a job to do,” he replied angrily. 

“You’re running my transition here, lady!” The vampire snapped. Claire bared her fangs.

“Claire!” Owen warned, trying to fight for Claire, but she had already moved to the vampire’s side. Her teeth ripping into his flesh and her aged teeth severing his hand from his wrist. 

“Touch him again and you will lose more than just your fucking hand,” she warned. The vampire screeched and hollered at the pain, Claire simply cleaned her face. Owen called in some other hunters, escorting the vampire and his severed hand back to where they and the proper vampire authority could interrogate him. When it was all said and done, Claire and Owen were left in the middle of an alley.

“You don’t have to keep defending me,” Owen said harshly, rubbing at his neck. 

“Then stop risking your life for me! I’m nearly four hundred years older than you are. Stop being a hero when I don’t need one,” she demanded and Owen’s brow furrowed. 

“What the hell happened to you to make you like this?” he spat at her. Claire took in a sharp breath, leaning forward.

“Four hundreds years,” she shot out, her hands bound tightly. She walked down the streets, her breathing harsh and the rage that built up within her. She needed to feed, needed to rip out someone’s throat just to get the calming rush of blood trickling down her throat. Remembering the times where she was a murderous ripper. When she found herself stopping, she came across a ground that she and Richard had once used to find each other. 

_ “Has he been keeping you from me?” Richard asked, his panting against her neck intoxicating. Everything was heightened for vampires, so just the simple act of kissing and having someone moan into your neck was an intoxicating and beautiful experience. Sex was a whole new and amazing fulfilling event, unlike sex that Claire had ever experienced before.  _

_ “He can only try,” Claire said with a hitched breath. _

_ “My love, how your beauty is a gift to me,” Richard said between kisses, his hands trying to pull at the back of Claire’s corset.  _

_ “You are a sweet talker,” Claire giggled.  _

_ “I love your skin and how you feel against me,” he moaned against her neck, trying in anyway to pull her gown.  _

_ “We can’t. I can only stay for a few minutes,” she told him, looking over at the gap in the alley, knowing if she was gone too long, Edward would get worried. Trying to get Richard up to her her again, he struggled, still trying to pull and tug at her gown.  _

_ “We can be quick,” he urged.  _

_ “You’re never quick,” Claire laughed. Then, his hands started to try and ride up her dress, collecting the heavy material in hand. “Richard, let me go,” she tried to push him off, but he was forcing himself on her harder.  _

_ “I want you for myself,” Richard muttered, nibbling on her neck, still trying to hitch up her dress. Claire rolled her eyes, grabbing hold of Richard’s wrist and snapping it backwards. He groaned as Claire grabbed his throat, picking him off the ground and slamming his body down on the dirt. Richard wheezed out a breath.  _

_ “You may be older but you are  _ weak _ against me,” she snarled, letting his throat go and standing. She cleaned off her dress. “Never think you can lay your hands on me without my permission,” she huffed, walking down the alley.  _

_ “Do you not love me?” Richard asked, already on his feet and standing in front of Claire.  _

_ “I will always love you, Richard,” she sighed. “Against every fibre of who I am, I will love you harder than I ever loved anyone,” she said as he tried to lean down to kiss her. “Until we meet again. Be that thirty years,” she jabbed, pushing past him and heading home. Claire walked into her home, hearing a glass being settled down in the parlour. It was Edward, of course. _

_ “You saw him again,” he asked. Claire was at the door the moment he spoke. He looked up at her and she nodded.  _

_ “Why am I so foolish, Eddie?” she sighed in displeasure. Edward extended his hand, offering it to Claire. _

_ “It’s alright, my dear. Come,” he said. Claire was there and he pulled her into his lap, holding onto her, the warmest hold she had felt since she was human. Edward hummed, stroking Claire’s hair and kissing her temple, like a parent caring for a child. “To feel is to be human. We were that way once,” he reminded.  _

So, Claire decided to not feel. She went home, she went into her liquor cabinet and drank around three full bottles of whiskey before it was even starting to affect her. Wearing a tank top and grey shorts that could barely qualify as such. Claire blared music as she put on her short pink silk robe. Standing on top of her throne, she yelled the lyrics to a song she barely knew, the liquor finally making her tipsy. Owen came into the hall, going straight to the music and turning it off. Claire groaned, taking another swig of the whisky. He watched her as she dashed across the room, still trying to savour the dance.

“Are you drunk?” he asked, trying to find her. To her, it was like hide and seek, dashing behind pillars as he tried to catch her.

“It’s a fun me. You like fun me, don’t you?” she said, giggling. He stopped by the side of one pillar, leaning against the thick marble. 

“Are you trying to compel me?” he asked. 

“If I was, I’d be asking you different questions,” Claire said. Then, she had an idea, dashing in front of him and letting her robe slip down her shoulder slightly. “Now that you’ve said that -” 

Owen’s eyes widened. “Claire, think for a second.” She caught his chin, making his eyes focus on hers. Even drunk, Claire could compel just about anyone.

“What do you want to do to me?” she asked, his pupils dilating before he replied in a monotone.

“I want to hold you and love you with everything I have.” Claire let his chin go and back away, the shock sobering her up quicker than she would have liked.

“Oh,” she muttered. Owen’s brow narrowed, his hands pushing her shoulders against the pillar. 

“Why did you do that?” he yelled. 

“I’m sorry,” her voice was quiet. “I didn’t know you’d -” 

“You flirt and you dance around like you can rule the world! I have better things to do than to be compelled by you,” he bellowed and Claire felt like shrinking down, the guilt of it, the hatred she felt for herself - it was too much. 

“I didn’t know,” she replied. Owen scoffed. 

“How could you not?” 

Swallowing hard, she restrained the urge within her to cry, to break down and beg for forgiveness. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” she said truthfully. Owen let her go, storming out. Claire felt like collapsing to her knees. She cared for Owen in her own way and may have wanted something more from him, but that was impossible now, she had crossed a line she never wanted to. Claire slinked past the doors she never opened, the ones that reminded her of the past she long lost. 

And then, she went down to the basement, the only area that no one was allowed to enter or even think about going into. Claire took several blood bags, finding the rooms that were as nice as the ones on the floors above. She opened the door to find the man she could never forget lounging on his bed. 

“My dear,” he muttered. Claire put away his blood bags and smiled towards him.

“Eddie,” she said with a broken voice. Her master, not dead and very much….well, undead, sat there reading a book as he did every time she came down to check on him.

“I heard. Are you okay?” he asked, setting down his book and making room across his bed. That’s when she broke.

“Why am I so foolish?” she cried softly, covering her mouth as her shame was overwhelming. 

“It’s alright, my dear. Come,” Eddie said. Claire walked over to his bed, climbing in beside him. He didn’t have to finish his speech this time - she knew it by heart. She held Edward tightly, knowing that she would fall asleep in her master’s arms like she had done hundreds and thousands of times before. 


	3. The Truth Is Like Blood Underneath Your Fingernails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking look at this? An update to a fic? what an amazing accomplishment. So yeah, this is update and kinda sad at the end when you think about it. Anyway. here it is.

Claire was beginning to realise that her birthday was going to be the last sign. The last day. Evidence of it was building as the anticipation of the day was getting to the point where Claire dreaded it. But even with this impending doom - Claire was stuck realising that she hadn’t seen Owen in weeks. He stopped coming to meetings, sending emails and rarely ever replying to her. Knowing she hurt him, revealing something about himself that was a painful secret wasn’t exactly what Claire intended - she was naive and stupid to think that everyone was like her; unfeeling and unapologetic. 

Claire sat in her throne, sipping at her coffee, a hint of blood just to soothe some cravings and ate some breakfast. Most people thought that vampires only drank blood, but the food always helped with the cravings, the coffee to keep the skin warm and feeling alive. Small tricks and tips just to live normally. When Claire was going over her notes, marking out where things seemed foreign or strange, Zara came into the room, combing back her hair. 

“Mistress,” Zara began, and as Claire glared at her, she realised her mistake. “Claire. Mister Grady is here to see you,” she corrected and smiled to Claire. Sitting up straighter, she gestured for Zara to get him.

“Send him in.” 

Within a few minutes, Owen was walking in, his body seeming more fragile and torn - he had either been fighting hard for days on end or fallen down several flights of stairs. He stood in front of the throne, a scowl on his face. “There hasn’t been an update from your office about the turned humans. Why is that?” he asked and Claire gave a vague shrug. “Don’t tell me it’s because you wanted to see me,” he scoffed. 

“Would that be so wrong?” Claire asked.

“Claire.” 

“We haven’t found any new information. There can’t be anything to report on when nothing is found.” 

“Fine.” Owen turned on his heels, moving to leave the hall. Dashing in front of his path, Owen took a sharp step back. 

“I do expect you to act more civilly the next time we meet,” Claire warned him before lowering her voice. “Yes, I understand that you may not like me very much right now, but I do need you to stop fighting me every chance you get.” Claire waited, watching as Owen inspected her face.

“Fine,” he muttered, walking past her. Claire let out a breath, her hand binding. When everything was heightened, anger and emotional pain could get brutal. Claire smashed the side of her fist against a pillar, the marble cracking a small chunk tumbling to the floor. 

“Dammit! Zara,” Claire called out, shaking her hand, “get me that repair guy! I broke another pillar!” Claire turned to see Owen looking back in confusion. She huffed, going back to her spot and collecting her notes. She didn’t notice Owen leave and she didn’t care. 

Days past, no news and the silence of it all was killing Claire. She had threatened, worked and almost tortured people to get anything. Only news is that all newborn vampires died by sunlight. The silence was killing her. Blasting song after song, going through all of her research - there was still nothing new that could help them. Claire groaned, downing another glass of whiskey wishing it was something else - stoner blood or something stronger! The next thing she saw was Owen walking in, face healed and looking in much better shape than before.

“Heard you might have information?” he asked.

“Heard wrong. Still stuck,” Claire huffed, sifting through the papers on the ground. She stood just as the song changed. The Weepies  _ World Spins Madly On _ playing. Claire grinned. “Have you ever listened to this song?” she asked and Owen chuckled, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“ _ World Spins Madly On _ ? Hasn’t everyone?” 

“I think it was written by a vampire,” Claire said and Owen scoffed.

“Why would you say that?” 

“Woke up and wished that I was dead, with an aching in my head, I lay motionless in bed,” Claire sung along, though she was terrible, she smiled anyway.

“Your experience?” he asked and Claire shrugged. 

“Most actually. Then it’s something like,” she said clearing her throat. “I thought of you and where you’d gone and the world spins madly on,” she sighed. “Very vampire-esque.” 

“You have someone you left when you died,” he urged and Claire felt like she had been stabbed in the chest. She turned away. 

“I don’t talk about my death,” she said in a small voice.

“Oh, sorry. Am I getting you to reveal something you want to push down and forget?” he chuckled, almost like he was proud of himself.

“Don’t push me, Owen,” she warned. 

“What? Can’t I know about the husband that you stopped loving to become -” 

“I would never!” Claire shouted, baring her fangs, and she could feel the rage fever rippling across her face; it disfigured and made vampire’s eyes black, the skin around their eyes streak into dark veins and streak further down as the rage built. “Don’t you ever presume a  _ thing _ about my life and what I’ve gone through!” Owen had jumped back, watching her in surprise and shock.

“How did you die?” he asked. Claire turned, waiting for the rage to dwindle down to nothing.

“Leave it alone, Owen,” Claire cleared her throat. She took up all her research, leaving Owen on his own. “Please,” she said quietly before finally leaving.

Within the next few days, things got back to normal, with a few rumours spreading around. Claire had been meeting with other vampires, meaning her formal suit was in desperate need of a wear. Claire took note of the rumours and all the information she could father, trying to work out where exactly she could find the next attack, or maybe even the second sign; though she was dreading that far more than the first. Living as long as she did made her organised, her systems of filing and research notes scattered with new and old papers. This search was beginning to get repetitive, and feeling like it was running in circles. When Owen barged in, she groaned, trying to figure out what she was going to be yelled at for this time.

“There’s a rumour going around that the turning will happen again in a few nights, I want you to patrol for once,” he demanded and Claire bound her fist, letting her things lie on the side of the throne before she stormed towards him in a second flat. 

“For once?” she asked, trying to intimidate Owen. “Do you think I just sit here all night and wait for you? I go out every night just to make sure you idiots don’t kill yourselves,” she barked and Owen scoffed.

“That’s rich coming from you.” 

“Do you want to go, little man?” she begged him for the fight. At least the tension would be over. Then, there was a howl of pain that radiated through the mansion, coughing and things falling beginning to become the norm in just a few moments. 

“What was that?” Owen asked, looking around and trying to find the source. But Claire knew. She could hear it all happening. The basement.

“No,” she muttered.

“Claire?” Owen questioned before she dashed down to the basement. “Claire!” Owen gave another call, but she was already down, pushing her way through Edward’s door to see him on the floor, close to having a fit. Scrambling to his side as he lay on his back, spitting up blood over and over again. She checked on what was happening - what could have caused this. She found a blood bag spilled on the floor and some splattered against the wall as though it was coughed out.

Claire rolled Edward over, his heaving and coughing becoming violent. Claire grabbed at the bag of blood, tasting it briefly before spitting it onto the floor. Clotted blood. Like drinking from the dead. He must have ingested more of it to mask the taste, barely even realising. She couldn’t help him, there was no cure other than flushing it from the system; he was already getting it out the only way his body knew how but she knew they needed blood. Now, she couldn’t trust any blood source in their home.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Claire heard Owen exclaim. She turned, seeing him in the doorway and his jaw hanging in shock. Before Claire could tell Owen to leave, Eddie suddenly stopped convulsing. 

“Eddie? Eddie! Please!” Claire called out to him, tears rushing down her face as the man she had spent three centuries with was lying dead. Then, the intoxicating smell of iron filled the air - blood. Claire turned, to see Owen putting away a swiss army knife and his arm bleeding. Claire hitched Edward up as Owen knelt down, offering his wrist up to Edward. Forcing Edward’s mouth to Owen’s blood, it took barely any time for Edward to react, sipping at Owen’s arm until he finally came up for air. Claire stroked her master’s hair before guiding him up to his bed. 

“You have to tell me what’s going on,” Owen said angrily, standing his ground. Claire combed back Eddie’s hair, watching as he relaxed into the bed, though he still groaned in discomfort.

“Eddie, are you okay?” she asked, watching him as he tried to smile.

“Fine, my dear,” he said with a husky voice, taking her hand. He suddenly looked to the end of his bed and sighed. “The boy is getting impatient.” 

“Rest. I’ll bring you down a fresh source,” Claire said, kissing at Edward’s forehead before walking with Owen.

“Only one that you trust, my dear,” Edward asked and Claire nodded, shutting his door. Walking upstairs, Claire went to the blood sources they had - fresh was the way to go for now. Claire tasted at the wrist of a girl. She was weak from other feedings, but she could spare a few more drops before being healed

“You’re weak but you’ll do. Tell him not to feed too long,” Claire told her and she nodded. As she turned to Owen, his arms were folded and he was angry. 

“Talk. Now.” 

Claire nodded, taking him into her office, shutting the door and locking it behind her. “This has happened before,” she started with a sigh. Owen sat down on the edge of the desk as Claire moved to another corner of the room, trying to keep her voice as small as possible as to not worry other listening vampires.

“Faking your master’s death?” Owen cursed. 

“Do you want to not condescend me right now?” Claire huffed and Owen shrugged. “The deaths. It’s the first of three signs.” 

“Of what?” 

Claire breathed out a harsh breath, knowing this conversation was going to be tough. “The makings of a war.” 

Owen crossed his arms, waiting for Claire. “Tell me.”

“It starts with turning a handful of humans, usually having them perish by sunlight,” she explained, dashing to her desk and showing Owen her researching, pointing out the events before. The exact events that had Claire begging for them to go to America. “There weren’t enough for this to mean a great deal so whoever is doing this is going to try again,” she told him. Owen came around to her side of the desk, inspecting everything across the table. 

“You said signs. What’s the next part?” 

“Tainted blood,” Claire pointed.

“How is tainted blood given to vampires?” he asked just as Claire handed over an old newspaper clipping. Supposedly dead humans, but written along the margin was the phrase ‘vampires poisoned’.

“Back in 1806, vervain was given to humans. In their meals, in their drink, wearing it on skin. Now it can be tainted with corpse blood or clotted blood,” Claire suggested, the most common and easiest ways to poison a vampire.

“No one has seen vervain in decades,” Owen reminded her.

“It was practically eradicated when we moved here,” Claire explained, passing him a crushed and decayed piece of vervain, it’s ability to cause harm was extinct. “We didn’t want another war with the humans.” 

“What’s next?” Owen asked, his mind working just as efficiently as hers. She could see his mind working meticulously to connect everything and he was working fast at it.

“A leader or prominent member of each council will die,” Claire gave a reluctant sigh. Owen didn’t look up from the pages but she knew he would - with doe eyes and a pained look. 

“What does that mean?” 

“My master was targeted before his superior was murdered. Staked to be more exact,” she explained, showing the detailed reports from when she was younger. “One of the founding members of the hunter’s council was murdered. His throat was torn out.” 

“You took up the role so your master was no longer targeted,” Owen connected it. Then, he stopped and turned to her; everything finally clicking. She was right about the doe eyes and pained look. “But that means -” 

“I’m the target,” she shrugged. “I’m old and faster than other vampires expect,” she praised herself.

“How are you so sure it’s a vampire?” he asked. 

“Something tells me that it is and I trust that feeling,” she nodded, collecting everything together and placing it in her safe, making sure that no other eyes would see it. “You’re also a target. So I suggest giving your position to someone else,” she suggested.  

“No way in hell,” Owen retorted.

“Your funeral,” Claire rolled her eyes, but as she looked at Owen, he smirked.

“I want to take this bastard down,” he challenged and Claire smiled. His confidence was palpable and contagious. 

With more and more conversations, Owen asked about everything that happened before - seeing as how she was there. She explained that when the humans died, it was a scandal, something wicked and no one should consider it again. Then, the real tension started when the vampires started dying. Claire was terrified and didn’t drink for days, scared for her safety. Then, Owen asked about specifics, the dates, the amount of time between the first two signs and the third. It was complicated because everything seemed to unravel all at once in those times, feeding from one meal to the next, never quite concerned for the date. Then, there was a silence and Claire couldn’t help but think on Edward. 

“I’m going to ask you something you will disagree to,” she started.

“What?” 

“Will you be Edward’s blood source until I figure out where I can obtain a good supply?” she asked and Owen perked up, shaking his head slightly. “I can heal you, so no one will ever know,” she tried to reason. It took a few moments before Owen sighed.

“Fine,” he huffed. “But find a good source quick.” Claire smiled. 

Making their way down to the basement again, they opened the door to see a weak Edward, his body tired and his skin paler than usual. Claire sat by Eddie’s side as Owen sat on a chair next to Eddie’s side of the bed. Extending his arm out, showing the clean cut across his arm, Eddie took it and bit down. Claire explained to Edward about everything she told Owen, making sure he knew that they could trust Owen. Once Eddie had his fill, Claire kissed her master’s head again and was ready to leave him to rest.

“Thank you, my dear,” Eddie smiled. 

“I will check on you again tomorrow, okay?” she said softly, escorting Owen outside.

“How often do you feed him?” Owen asked.

“I get blood bags to him every other day.”

“Fine,” he replied harshly.

“Hey,” Claire grabbed his shoulder. “I’m sorry you’re doing this.”

“You could have told me, Claire. I would have trusted you,” he shrugged. 

“I am sorry about all of this, Owen,” Claire tried to apologise again. 

“What’s your deal with Eddie, anyhow?” he asked as they headed up the stairs. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You seem to really care for him, I thought that -” 

Claire’s eyes widened and she laughed. “Oh, god. No!” she laughed more, having to stop half way up the steps. Owen grinned at her and helped her back up so they would get back to her office once more. “Eddie turned me. I was alone and scared and he helped me. He’s like a father to me,” Claire explained, cleaning her face as the laughing made her teary. 

“And the whole ‘my dear’ thing?” he asked, the phrase a little foreign, especially in Edward’s mixed american and english accent.  

“Form of affection,” she shrugged, looking over to Owen and her brow crinkling. “Why?”

“Just wanted to scope out the competition,” he teased and Claire giggled. 

“You do have a contender in that area who is far older than you are,” she explained. “He never played nice,” she winked, biting at her lip.

“Guess I shouldn’t either,” Owen smirked. Claire felt like they were in a spot where the arguing and anger had stopped, that there was no hate, just agreeing to be civil….maybe more.

“I am sorry for the that night,” Claire apologised. Her days for saying sorry were lengthy and she had a lot more to give to Owen until he could even consider forgiving her.

“It’s okay. Just took me by surprise,” he shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck and sighing. “I wasn’t raised to hate you and I knew of you through readings and documents growing up and training. I just wasn’t quite expecting…. _ you _ .” Claire smiled.

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” she joked.

“You should,” Owen beamed, a happiness she hadn’t been able to grasp before. He winced suddenly, his arm now causing him irritation and pain. 

“Oh, right. Here,” Claire said, biting her wrist and offering it to Owen. He cringed for a moment before he laid his mouth over the wound, drinking a few sips from her blood. He coughed before he looked down at his arm, the wound closing and the colour coming back to his skin slowly. “Fair warning, you’ll get the same dreams as I do until the blood goes through your system. It should take a day or so,” she warned in a shrug. 

“Noted,” he nodded. “I should head out. Might just crash for the night,” Owen swallowed, not quite moving and waiting for Claire to say something more. She wasn’t quite sure what to do, and there were parts of her that didn’t want him to leave but knowing he had to. 

“Probably the better thing to do,” she tried to crack a believable smile but it faded quickly. 

 

*****

 

_ Everything was alive and green, meadows seeming to span over each rolling hill. It was like the world was so beautiful, every colour was electric and bright, an amazing beauty woven into nature. Owen was dressed in a thin white shirt, a kilt and trousers to match his dark brown overcoat. He didn’t understand it at all. Seeing a small house just a little ways off, he started walking towards it.  _

_ When coming over the rise of the next hill, he was greeted by a familiar looking red head, though her hair was shorter and her attire was very strange. She wore a dress that seemed to be made out of the same material as his kilt. She wore a tight corset with her sleeves rolled up to her elbow. “Claire?” he asked, his voice echoing over the hills.  _

_ “Owen. Hello,” she greeted back. She stared off into the distance, as though she was waiting for something. _

_ “I don’t understand, what is this?” Owen asked, watching her. She smiled.  _

_ “A memory. My memory.” Her smile got wider before she knelt down. Over the hill, someone came racing towards her. _

_ “Who is that?” Owen asked. Claire didn’t reply, just watched the person come closer. It was a small boy, no older than six or seven. He came bounding towards Claire, hair the same fiery red as her own.  _

_ “Jamie! My wee barbarian, come ‘ere!” she said, her accent a thick Scottish. She clapped her hands and the boy giggled, racing harder to Claire. “Come t’ya ma!” she called out again and Owen looked down to her. There was so much love in her voice and face, she adored her son. Her son. He finally landed in her arms and she picked him up, holding him tightly. Owen watched as she laughed and smiled towards him before he was suddenly gone. The day shifted into night and Claire’s face shifted into panic. She looked to Owen and her breathing became erratic. “Get out!” she yelled at him, pushing hard against his chest.  _

Owen woke with sweat beading from his forehead. And he knew that he stumbled onto the past that Claire fought so hard to avoid revealing. 


End file.
